


it wasn't until later (when i was washing the blood off my hands)

by kittenhwa



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Blood, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, aka it happens offscreen, dead bodies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29170542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenhwa/pseuds/kittenhwa
Summary: From the very first time Jongho met Yunho, something had felt off.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Song Mingi, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	it wasn't until later (when i was washing the blood off my hands)

**Author's Note:**

> helloooo 
> 
> this is based entirely off [jonghos noir pics](https://twitter.com/mas_hoshwa/status/1356769740589473792?s=21) from universe. i was overcome for an hour, wrote this in that time, and here we are.
> 
> thank you to x both for the idea and existing and to s both for always supporting me and for existing.
> 
> title from ‘cell block tango’ from the musical chicago. the subject matter fit perfectly but idk abt what i picked for the title, you guys. be gentle with me.......
> 
> thanks as alway. enjoy!!

He doesn’t realize what he’s done until it’s over. 

His hands aren’t shaking anymore, steady as he turns the hot water tap in the bathroom. The water runs red when he puts his hands under it, flushed down the sink like everything he and his husband had built over all these years. 

Jongho swallows hard, pushes that thought away. It’s over. There’s nothing more to salvage. He has to move forward. 

His own eyes stare back at him in the mirror, blank. There’s blood smeared over his skin, and Jongho resolves to take a shower once this has been taken care of. 

When he gets back into the bedroom, the smell of blood is nauseating. Sharp and tangy, like an overripe fruit, staining his floor as it seeps from their wounds. 

He knows they’re both dead, but just to be safe, he steps over the smaller form of the other man to loom close to his husband’s prone form. He’s draped over the edge of their bed, the bed they’d come home to after their wedding, and Jongho pushes his fingers gently against the base of his neck. No movement, no pulse. It’s done. 

The other man laying in his own blood receives the same touch, fleeting and sterile, and then Jongho is standing in his bedroom with the lifeless bodies of the person he loves the most in the world and the man who had taken everything from him. He hasn’t even taken his coat off. The silence is crushing. 

Jongho breathes in and out, stares down at the blood. The wood floor is hopeless, at this point. It makes him feel better about what he’s going to do; he can’t live in a home with bloodstains in the hardwood, and the resale value is dropping with every second it permeates the oak. 

Instead of dwelling, he sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and looks to his closet. He’ll miss some of the bigger pieces he won’t be able to bring, but he can always build his wardrobe back up when he’s able to settle again. 

It’s over, he reminds himself. It’s done. The only way forward is through.

***

When Jongho and Mingi met, it was a perfect day. Mingi had been a total gentleman, asking Jongho shyly if he wanted coffee and holding the door for him when they’d arrived. It had been the most spontaneous thing Jongho had done in his life, usually so distracted by being the best in everything he tried, by living up to the impossible standards his parents had set for him. In agreeing to coffee with Mingi, Jongho had decided to do something for himself for the first time. 

Their romance was short and their engagement long. When Jongho took over his father’s company he set right to work revamping it from the ground up, and it took all of his time. Mingi worked hard as well, and they didn’t get to see each other as much as they wanted. They lamented the distance despite their shared home, their shared bed, but Jongho always promised it would pay off in the end. 

“Just a little longer, now,” he’d murmur into Mingi’s skin as he pressed kisses down his back. Mingi would answer with a breathy agreement, and always kissed him like they had all the time in the world. 

When all was said and done, Jongho was proud of what he’d built. He was far richer and more successful than his father had ever dreamed of being, he had a beautiful home, and he had his perfect fiance. Now all he had to do was sit back and let the company make him dividends, and plan his wedding. 

Mingi wanted something big and lavish, something with hundreds of people, too many flowers to count, and live music. Jongho had never given much thought to his wedding, but had always imagined it would be something small and demure. 

“If it’ll make you happy,” he’d acquiesced, and the look on Mingi’s face had been worth it. Any bit of Mingi’s happiness would always be worth it. 

By the time the day came, they were both frazzled and exhausted from all the planning, but it was a stunning ceremony. Mingi glowed, and Jongho reveled in knowing he would be able to keep this for as long as he was alive. 

They were to leave for their honeymoon in the morning, so they got a car back to their home and tumbled into their bed together. Jongho came apart easy under Mingi’s touch, and each time they kissed, it felt like forever. He was sure that nothing could come close to this feeling, and vowed to never let anything take it from them. 

***

The shower Jongho takes is hot and leisurely. He doesn’t think much as he rinses the blood from his face, scrubbing at where it had dried through his white pants and stuck to his skin. He’s using the guest bathroom, and resolves to dry off, dress, and get moving. 

The smell of Mingi’s body wash makes him smile, and Jongho fights back the lump in his chest that threatens to break him, make him cry and panic and wreck everything. He can’t, not until he’s gone. 

His suitcase is a carry-on, some essentials in it, like he’s going off to attend another overseas meeting. He stands in the guest bedroom in his towel and moves some money around on his phone, making sure he’ll be able to do what he needs to. Once he leaves his front door, he knows he’ll have to keep moving. 

He dresses in something comfortable for the flight, pulls on a different coat, and shuts off the lights in the apartment before he leaves. The door closes behind him with a click, and Jongho lets out a breath, proud of himself for not having looked back. 

It’s over, he reminds himself. It’s done. 

***

From the very first time Jongho met Yunho, something had felt off. 

He’d come home from a business trip to find Mingi in the kitchen and a stranger sitting on their island. It was late, past midnight, and Jongho was beat from a whole day of travel. 

But Mingi had called him “Darling,” and swept him into a kiss, so Jongho hadn’t thought anything of it. Upon greeting the man still perched in their home like he lived there too, he’d found out that he was one of Mingi’s coworkers. 

“He’s my manager, don’t let him downplay it,” Mingi had teased when Yunho and Jongho were shaking hands. “He’s just come onboard for that big project I mentioned, remember?”

Of course Jongho remembered. Mingi had always loved his job, working at a non-profit that was doing big things in the environmental sector. Jongho was endlessly proud of him, and loved that he was able to support Mingi in his efforts to change the world. 

“Mingi is the best on the team, by far,” Yunho’s voice was deep, commanding, and his presence was arresting in a way that didn’t feel overbearing. He was tall, handsome, had bleached hair and big hands. He was everything Jongho wasn’t. “Probably the best in the organization.”

When Mingi had blushed, something ugly and bad had sunk into Jongho’s stomach. Resolutely, he’d pushed it aside; Mingi was allowed to have friends. Jongho was happy that he was being recognized for his hard work, wanted nothing more than for Mingi to know how wonderful he was. 

“Of course he is,” was all he’d said in response. Mingi had kissed him back when he’d pressed against his chest, and pouted when Jongho told them he’d be going to bed. When Mingi had slipped into bed beside him a few hours later, Jongho was still awake, turning over everything he’d heard Yunho and Mingi laughing and talking about in the living room. Mingi had pulled him against his chest, kissed the back of his neck, and held him until they fell asleep. 

Yunho started cropping up more and more. 

It was like flipping a switch, and suddenly half of their conversations revolved around Yunho, the project, what Yunho had said at lunch, where they were all going for drinks on Friday after work. It was difficult to quell the bad thing in Jongho’s stomach that wanted to lock Mingi in their home and never let him speak to Yunho again, but he managed it. Yunho made him happy, and that was all Jongho could ever want. 

Jongho didn’t bring anything up to any of his friends. Part of that was because they were almost all Mingi’s friends as well, but also because he didn’t want to sound weird and possessive. Mingi was allowed to have friends, and Jongho liked that he did. This shouldn’t have felt like anything different from that. 

It did, though. 

Yunho started coming over more often. Jongho never saw him enter his house, only ever saw him because he would come home and find Mingi and Yunho chatting over drinks by the windows, or sitting on the couch watching a movie, or making dinner together. Always gracious and charismatic, Yunho would ask Jongho about his day while Mingi got up to greet him, and Jongho would try his best to answer kindly. 

Yunho was always dressed well, sharp and in control of every situation he put himself in, and Jongho would watch the way he moved through his and Mingi’s home in his business casual outfit, slipping past Mingi to grab something from a cupboard or picking up the glass of water he’d left on the table. 

It was never a case of Jongho worrying about Mingi cheating on him. He didn’t think Mingi was capable of such a thing, not after everything they’d been through, everything they’d built together. He did, however, see how Yunho looked at Mingi. It was too familiar to be comfortable; he knew what it looked like to be in love with Mingi, and try as he might, Yunho couldn’t hide. 

As the project drew to a close, Mingi spent more time at the office. Jongho would have his favourite foods waiting for him when he’d get in, but half the time Mingi would beg out of dinner, claiming it was too late to eat, that he just wanted to sleep. The dark thing in Jongho’s stomach was growing, but Jongho forced himself to ignore it, push it away. It wouldn’t solve anything, and Mingi needed his support. 

Jongho had built his life around loving Mingi, and this coworker of Mingi’s wouldn’t take that from them. It would be okay, and he and Mingi would live out their days together. It was what they’d promised on their wedding day, what they’d worked for since that very first afternoon at the cafe. 

It would be okay. Everything would go back to normal, and they would be happy.

***

Boarding the plane is as easy as it ever is. He smiles at the airline staff, chats with the flight attendants, and orders himself a little glass of red wine from the first drink cart that passes by once they’re in the air. It settles him just enough to set the panic aside for another few hours, and he leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as the plane takes them over the pacific. 

In his headphones is one of the playlists he and Mingi had made together. All of their favourite songs to dance to compiled in one place, they would always play it while cooking together, or setting up for a party. Mingi’s smile was always so wide in those moments, and the thought of it makes Jongho’s mouth twitch up. 

It’s over. It’s done. The plane is taking him far, far away, and inside it, Jongho settles back into his seat, focusing on the music. 

As he lets his mind drift, he remembers the colour of the sweater Mingi had been wearing when he’d first spoken to Jongho, voice timid as he’d asked if he wanted to get coffee together. He’d been wearing red, dark and striking, and Jongho doesn’t think he could ever regret having said yes. 


End file.
